


The One Where They Confess (Finally)

by orphan_account



Series: Pining Pines [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:53:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiddleford has had it up to here with the Stan twins tiptoeing around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where They Confess (Finally)

It goes like this: it’s not meddling if the two parties concerned constantly want your advice. It’s also less advice the brothers are seeking but more of a person to unload all their troubles onto. Fiddleford, being the ever patient man in an ever repeating cycle of awkward tension and one-on-one “what do I do?” conversations , only snaps when it’s been twenty four hours and his two housemates have come to him five separate times for advice that they’re never going to use.

“Either get the balls to confess,” Fiddleford snaps at Stanley who is following him down the hall after waiting outside the bathroom door for Fiddleford to finish, “or move on Stanley!”

 

* * *

 

 

Fiddleford would later come to regret those words but at the moment he just wants to make it to his room uninterrupted. Stanley, perhaps seeing that pushing Fiddleford is not wise, retreats back to somewhere else in the house. From that point on Stanford is the only one to come to Fiddleford which Fiddleford is grateful for. It's less the burden after all.

He's grateful up and until the point it comes to bite him in the ass. Stanford’s been talking lately of confessing and Fiddleford’s thinking Finally, I can have peace and quiet, which is bullshit because he lives with the Pines twins but you know, relatively, relatively he can get more peace and quiet. Anyways Stanford’s talking about confessing and Fiddleford’s been egging him on of course and then a day later Stanford comes into his room, looking like he’s been betrayed by the highest order and then says, “You _lied_.”

Fiddleford who’s in the middle of a midday banjo session stops his fingers and goes, “Huh?”

“You lied.” Stanford says and his mouth is set to a thin line and there’s something defensive about the way his shoulders are hunched, “You said Stanley loved me, like- like, more than brothers and you _lied_.”

And Fiddleford is sitting straighter in his desk chair, “What happened? Stanford what happened when you confessed-?”

“I didn’t confess because apparently Stanley has a date next Wednesday evening and I wouldn’t want to ruin it with the revelation that his brother is a _freak_ who-”

Fiddleford places his banjo down and stands up to comfort Stanford. He pats Stanford’s back and lets Stanford rest his head on his shoulder and thinks to himself, “ _Stanley you tool._ ” After Fiddleford puts Stanford to bed and tucks him in - “ _I really am their babysitter,”_ scrolling in his head - he marches straight to Stanley’s door, and conscious of the fact that Stanford just fell asleep in a pitiful mess, knocks very quietly.

“Yeah?” Stanley greets as he opens the door only for Fiddleford to push through into his room.

“Stanley Pines if you had a middle name I’d be using it right now. What’s this about you having a date?”

And here Stanley shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t just miss his one opportunity for the thing he’s been hoping for since he was a teenager, “You said to move on didn’t you? I was just thinkin’ the chances of me an’ Ford workin’ out are really low-”

“Except it was just really high because Ford was going to confess you-”

“Wait what?”

“And instead he hears you’re going on a date-”

“Ford was going to confess to me?”

“And now I’m stuck with a sad Stanford and _you_ -” Fiddleford hisses and he points at Stanley in the chest, “you are going to confess to him when he wakes up and I will not take any ‘ifs,’ ‘ands’ or ‘buts’.”

There’s silence for one second before Stanley repeats, “He was going to confess to me?”

Fiddleford’s only response is to run his hand over his face in exasperation.

“Okay, so you are going to walk up to him and say “I love you,” nice and easy,” Fiddleford says a good hour later as Stanford finally exits his room looking like something the cat dragged in.

“Right.” Stanley says from the doorway they’re hiding behind.

“Go.”

“Right.” Stanley says as he stands absolutely still, staring at Stanford as if mesmerized.

“ _Go_.” Fiddleford says and then pushes Stanley for good measure. Stanley stumbles out and from where Fiddleford is situated from the doorway he can see as Stanley almost bumps into Stanford.

“Hey Sixer,” Stanley starts, “you wanna hear a joke?”

“Sure,” Stanford agrees albeit unenthusiastically.

Fiddleford, instead of watching the oncoming train wreck, slumps against the wall he’s hiding behind and slowly slides down.

“Well here it goes. What does one twin say to the other twin?”

“What?” Stanford asks.

“I love you.” Stanley practically blurts out. There’s a pause from the other room and Fiddleford is just curious enough to peek around the bend but then Stanford lets out this dry little, “ha ha, I love you too.” which is just off enough for Fiddleford to understand that he didn’t get it. Except Stanley sounds so hopeful when he asks, “ _Really_?” that the responding, “Of course. We’re _brothers_.” is heartbreaking.

“Actually…” Stanley says and Fiddleford knows from the pause that Stanley’s losing courage, “I meant-”

“Stanley, I kind of need to get back to work,” Stanford interrupts, plowing through Stanley’s half assed confession. Which is total malarky because it’s Sunday and they all know Stanford isn’t supposed to work on Sundays - not after the sleeping beauty incident - but there’s the sound of footsteps drawing near and Fiddleford has nowhere to hide but Stanford just walks past him, staring straight ahead with this determined expression and then he’s turning the corner and Fiddleford hears the familiar sound of the elevator coming up.

“What went wrong?” Stanley asks. Fiddleford gets to his feet and enters the room Stanford just vacated.

“He doesn’t believe you.” Fiddleford says, “He’s heard you’re taking someone on a date and he’s taking it as good as a rejection.” _Stubborn idiot_. Fiddleford sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

“Well what do we do now?” Stanley asks and he’s got that look on his face like maybe he should give up and Fiddleford says, “We’ll just have to show him you really mean it.” and he smiles even though he dislikes how he’s in the middle of this because, in the end, the Pines twins are still his friends.

Fiddleford keeps that in mind for the next twenty failed confession attempts.

When Stanley asks Stanford on a date, with roses and candles and everything, Stanford willfully misconstrues it as a ‘brotherly’ outing; there was even a jazz band playing in the background and everything, how the gosh diddly darn-

When Stanley tries to get Stanford something for Valentines it gets taken by cupid. _Cupid_ takes Stanley’s Valentines gift. Apparently the Valentine spirit is sick of the capitalist profiteering his holiday has become and in recompense Cupid decided it was a good idea to steal everybody’s Valentine gifts; chocolates, flowers, store bought and hand-made. They stopped him of course but by then the gift, whatever it was (Stanley wouldn’t tell) is burned along with the note attached to it professing Stanley’s love...that Fiddleford stayed up with Stanley until 3 AM to write.  
  
When Stanley tries to read Stanford a love note it turns out Stanford had been working on a project and had tuned his brother out mid-way through. When asked to repeat himself Stanley had promptly put his own hard-worked-on love note in his mouth; chewed, and then swallowed. Then cried about "the taste of paper in his mouth" (his fifteenth failed attempt) for an hour.

There’s a few more failed confessions, most of them pretty adequate confessions if it weren’t for Stanford’s self-pity party. He’s so caught up in the so-called ‘rejection’ from Stanley’s ‘date’ - Stanley didn’t even go on the date, didn’t even cancel the date; just didn’t go, too caught up in plans of confessing; Fiddleford was the one who had to call the girl up and in vague terms explain to her that Stanley couldn’t go on the date with her because he was freaking out about his gay crush on his twin brother. Yeah, not a fun phone call. And now, now Stanford is being a big baby about the whole thing.

“Stanford.” Fiddleford says as he approaches him in the kitchen.

“Yes Fiddleford?”

“Stop being a baby and accept Stanley’s confession for once.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Fiddleford says as he struggles not to strangle his housemate and boss. “Stop being a gigantic dingleberry and accept Stanley’s confession because I am sick and tired of giving Stanley a pep talk every time you reject him.”

“I’ve never-” Stanford says, but Fiddleford stops him with a harsh, “You _have_ \- you have and it is pathetic that you think by rejecting him you’re saving your heart from some inevitable misunderstanding because the only misunderstanding that’s going on here is you and him and _honestly_ Stanford-”

Except Stanford snaps. He straightens his spine and when he stares at Fiddleford it is cold and angry, “Don’t ‘ _honestly’_ me. Who was the one who said Stanley loved me in the first place? Who was the one who got my hopes up? Who was the one who said they had a date? It wasn’t me.”

And Fiddleford would feel ashamed if it weren’t for the fact that it’s been literally months and Stanford still hasn’t gotten over it. “Stanford listen, Stanley’s been trying to confess you ever since then but you keep rejecting him and it’s either you want t’ get together or you don’t.”

And Stanford pauses and before he can say anything Fiddleford goes, “An’ if you say you don’t you’re a cowardly liar that don’t deserve your brother’s love.” And then Stanford deflates so Fiddleford continues, “Now your brother has been putting his heart out on the line again and again and you’ve only put it out once so my suggestion is: you confess this time.”

Which is how they ended up here: here being Stanford failing to confess to Stanley instead of vice versa.  
  
“Really Stanford? The periodic table, that’s how you try to confess?”

“What?” Stanford asks in an offended sort of tone because he is a moron, a genius granted, but also a moron.

“Stanley doesn’t know the atomic number for Hydrogen much less the symbols for Iodine, Livermorium, and Uranium. Why did you think putting those three on a piece of paper and asking him what the abbreviation was would be a good confession?”

There’s a blush high on his cheeks and Stanford blurts out, “I’ve never confessed to anybody before.”

“I can see that.” Fiddleford says. He takes a deep breath in and goes, “I’ll help you with your confessions.”

Now it is a mix of Stanley and Stanford trying to confess and still it is a right mess, even with Fiddleford's help. There’s interruptions and miscommunication and one incident with a copy machine clone where neither brother looks at each other for a good week and Fiddleford doesn’t feel bad when he says he revelled in the quiet that spawned from that one incident. It’s like the world doesn’t want Stanley Pines and Stanford Pines to be a couple and Fiddleford is a lot of things but a quitter ain’t one of them. Not with this thing that's consumed a decade of his life already.

The most notable confession, the one to end all confessions is one Fiddleford couldn’t plot up in his wildest dreams. It’s a day in rainy May. There’s thunder in the distance but for now it’s just pounding rain. They’re out in the forest again, tracking some creature, a creature that dances in the rain and disappears in any other weather. It’s the only opportunity they have to catch the creature and of course Stanford jumps at the chance. They find it dancing under the overcast skies in a clearing; it’s body seems to shimmer as it moves, it’s skin oozing in slime and covered in scales. It moves from side to side and when it stomps it seems to in time to the distant thunder, creating the feeling of an earthquake.

It’s amazing and terrifying all at once. Fiddleford wants to back away as soon as possible but of course Stanford wants a closer look. The beast though, apparently does not like peekers. The minute Stanford moves that isn’t in time with the thunder - despite how the rain and the howling winds itself make it hard to hear - the beast retracts from its scaly exterior and shows its true form. Pink fleshy skin like a newborn baby, miles and miles of capillaries showing underneath, hairless and naked like some deformed thing it chases them in the muddy landscape, relentless, singing and snarling like a creature from the depths of hell.

Fiddleford gets off lucky, it seems to mainly want to chase after the one that disturbed its rain dance. Problem is, it doesn’t seem to have the higher brain capable to tell the twins apart. It chases one twin but the moment it sees the other twin it sits back, blinks it’s thin pink eyelids, then chases the other.

It is only chance that the beast is struck by lightning, burnt to a blackened crisp and lying dead in the forest floor. Fiddleford ends up having to help Stanford carry Stanley back to the shack. With shaking hands Stanford lays his brother on his bed, taking off his wet clothes and caring for the injuries he can. Stanley, rendered unconscious by the beast, doesn’t even twitch as Stanford set to dressing his wounds.

Fiddleford, worrying and feeling helpless, busies himself with housework. After taking a hot shower he puts all their dirty clothes in the laundry and after that he does the dishes and after that he vacuums the carpet and soon he’s hungry so he sets up some dinner. Outside the thunder booms and the ground shakes and all Fiddleford can think of is the beast stomping in time, still out there, drawing nearer. Fiddleford shakes off such nonsense. He’s lived all his life unafraid of thunder and lightning but all the same he hurries with the dinner tray once the thunder booms again.

He pauses outside the opened door though. There’s Stanford, still in his wet clothes, staring at Stanley’s prone form on the bed. Stanley’s pale, his breathing is nearby unrecognizable, looking dead to the world. That is, if it weren’t for the fact that Fiddleford can see his eyelids fluttering slowly.

“Stanley,” Stanford says, “Stanley please stay with me.” And he sounds so mournful. Stanford doesn’t seem to be looking at Stanley, instead at his own hands as if ashamed to look his brother’s resting form, “You’ve been here with me through thick and thin and I’ve been taking it for granted-” Stanford pauses for a moment and Fiddleford knows, knows like he knows the sky is blue and the grass is green and that Gravity Falls can screw up that perception the next day, “Stanley you’re so important to me and I want you to know- want you to- before it’s too late-” and here Stanford chokes up and thunder rumbles but Fiddleford is too invested in the atmosphere - the rain dripping down the window pane and the dreary look of the room and the way Stanford’s head bowed as if praying- to remember the fear that plagued him a few minutes prior.

“Stanley,” Stanford says, reaching for his brother’s hand, “I lo-”

And then of course lightning flashes and Stanley wakes up like the boogeyman has personally chased him out into the waking world and Stanley, still haunted by whatever nightmare’s awoken him, clocks Stanford straight in the jaw. There’s a pained cry, Stanford topples over from the chair he was bent over, and really Fiddleford should be concerned: for the nightmare Stanley obviously had, for the injury Stanford just sustained, but he isn’t. He isn’t concerned. He’s fucking pissed.

Fiddleford marches into the room and places the dining tray roughly on the nightstand. The bowls clink against each other, the broth he’s made sloshes over the sides, but he can give less than a damn. The Pines twins, perhaps sensing the thunder brewing inside the room, look at him cautiously.

Stanley’s the one to break the silence, “Everythin’ alright there Fidds?”

“Fine.” Fiddleford says in a tone that states he is not fine. “Just dandy.” And Fiddleford can feel his lips thinning and his foot a tapping and then he says, “You know what, no. It is not fine. It is not fine because that was the most beautiful and poignant start to a confession and,” here Fiddleford gives Stanley a hard glare, “you ruined it!”

“Me?” Stanley says, matching Fiddleford’s accusing tone. “How’d I ruin it? I just woke up!”

“You punched your brother in the face!”

“I’m, uh, I’m okay.” Stanford offers tentatively.

“That doesn’t matter.” Fiddleford says, “What does matter is the fact that you two both know you’ve been trying to confess to each other and yet somehow you aren’t a couple yet. It’s ridiculous. No, even more than that it’s flippin’ _preposterous_.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Fiddleford continues demandingly, “Confess to each other right now.”

Stanley looks at Stanford. Stanford looks at Stanley. They both look at Fiddleford, “Right now?” They ask.

“Right now.” Fiddleford repeats.

They look at each other again.

“You first-”

“No, I insist you-”

“One of you,” Fiddleford says with impatience, “confess.”

“Right.” Stanley says at Stanford’s puppy dog look, “I’ll go.” He coughs, sits straighter in the bed and says, “Stanford, we’ve known each other a long time-”

“You’re twins. You’ve known each other your whole lives,” Fiddleford interrupts dryly.

“As I was saying, we’ve known each other long time and I think- I think I might be in love with you.”

It’s a little anti-climatic given how hard they’ve worked to come to this point but the way Stanford’s smile comes to form, shy and goofy and a little bit lovestruck, is almost worth it. Stanford comes forward to squeeze his brother and Stanley, still a little hurt from his run in with the monster, winces, but hugs back anyway. He hooks his chin on top of his brother’s head, runs his fingers through his still wet hair and whispers all the times he’s tried to get his confession right and there a matching fond grin worms his way into his face.

And that’s how Fiddleford leaves them, feeling accomplished at a job well done.


End file.
